


In Memoriam

by SpinachArtichokeDitz



Series: Bridging the Gap [4]
Category: Rune Factory 4
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Fluff, Headcanon, Humor, Making Out, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinachArtichokeDitz/pseuds/SpinachArtichokeDitz
Summary: “Frey…” He narrowed his eyes in concentration and his fingers restlessly tapped her wrists. She waited attentively as he ruminated. “Would you be willing to tell me what you were thinking just then?”
Relationships: Frey/Leon (Rune Factory)
Series: Bridging the Gap [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083023
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	In Memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> Mild warning: This one's rated M because there's a pretty extensive makeout session and someone (I wonder who XD) has dirty thoughts toward the end, but nothing explicit.
> 
> I have a TON of Leon headcanons, and that's what this first part mainly consists of. I've been wanting to write them all out for a while! I hope y'all enjoy my take on his past and stuff.
> 
> Also I'm starting to realize I probably should've posted these as a multi-chapter fic instead of a series of one shots (since they're in chronological order and each relate to the previous fic). The first two one shots were SS gifts for different people so I posted them separately, and then I realized I wanted to keep going. Oh well, it is what it is~

_To speak the name of the dead is to make them live again._

He had voiced those words in reverence countless times before, and peace enveloped him the moment they left his mouth. The saying was an important reminder that the departed weren’t truly gone until they were forgotten; that was one of several reasons he believed translating ancient texts was so vital. To bring the past to light was to remember those who came before, and he found immeasurable comfort in the thought that anyone reading his translations might also remember them.

That morning, on the first official day of fall, Frey suggested a private memorial service to honor Maria and his family. Standing in the shade provided by Leon Karnak’s once-dismal shadow--it didn’t have such a detrimental effect on him anymore--he realized the rituals he performed as a dragon priest were still second nature. The incantations flowed effortlessly from his lips, like he had only just spoken them the day before, and the gestures were so practiced that he initiated them without conscious thought.

His fingertips traced the blue and red facial tattoos he acquired during rites of passage ceremonies. The third eye tattoo was applied when he attained dragon priesthood, and it symbolized his hard-earned extrasensory perception, as well as his ability to cast ritual spells, which were used to grant passage to the Forest of Beginnings. Essentially, he had been Ventuswill’s right hand (or claw), capable of carrying out even the most sacred tasks in her stead.

Whether a Native Dragon or a dragon priest was performing burial rites, the result was the same--the deceased's' souls rose from their physical bodies before vanishing in a burst of pure white light, then waited harmoniously in the Forest until they were reincarnated. In the case of souls who were deemed malicious, they underwent years of spiritual cleansing--as ordained by the Native Dragons--before they were permitted to move on. Of course that didn’t prevent evil from prevailing; at the most, it delayed it.

Without appropriate guidance, souls miserably remained in the company of the living for eternity, incapable of moving on by themselves. To his knowledge, there was no worse fate--and for that reason, he once roamed the continent of Adonea in search of wayward souls for several months. Maria insisted on traveling with him, balking at the prospect of being separated for so long, and he was thankful she had--they never imagined they would part _forever_ soon afterward.

The following year, he qualified as a dragon priest and began serving Ventuswill, fulfilling the expectations of his family. As Leon Bastet VIII, he was following a tradition that spanned eight generations. He was destined to assume the responsibilities of his father--Venti’s standing dragon priest--before he could retire, and he accomplished it three years earlier than any of his predecessors. His father’s dedication to his duties had never wavered, and Leon strived to follow precisely in his footsteps.

His father had joked that Leon was only so motivated because he wanted to be in charge, as opposed to serving in his shadow, but his reasons were significantly more complicated than that. He devoted himself to his studies because he was compelled to; he felt like something infinitely more significant than his own fate was depending on it. The drive to succeed was embedded deep in his bones, like they were molded from the very ashes of his ancestors.

Since the moment he began training for priesthood, the day he turned 17, Venti had accused him of being ‘precocious but impudent’--which he couldn’t very well deny. She had known him since he was scarcely old enough to walk, after all. He straightened up and feigned solemnity in the presence of others, but when they were alone, he badgered her nonstop.

At one point, she sent a breath of fire after him as he exited her chamber, burning a hole in his ceremonial robe and singeing the ends of his hair. That had been fun to explain to his parents; he made up a lame excuse, claiming he stood too close to a candle, and they scolded him for failing to pay attention. It was better than admitting he’d narrowly avoided being roasted by The Divine Wind, herself.

He and Venti were just kids then, really. For a Native Dragon, she was considered very young and inexperienced, not yet fully grown despite her advanced age. In a sense, they grew up together, and their relationship was founded on petulance as if they were siblings. He had a younger brother and sister, so he was all too familiar with that dynamic. While his siblings were distracted, he stole their food; while Venti was distracted, he stole her tail feathers.

All priests carried ceremonial fans, which were typically crafted using ostrich feathers, but why--when there were perfectly good dragon feathers within his reach every day--would he bother with an ostrich? Their bland, brown and white feathers didn’t suit his tastes; dragon feathers were substantially more vibrant. When Venti was taking a particularly long nap, which she was extremely fond of, all he had to do was locate a loose feather and pull.

The first day he entered her chamber with his new accessory, casually fanning himself, she didn’t notice. To his disappointment, it took several days of snapping the fan open and closed, unnecessarily gesticulating with it, and parading it in front of her face before she put two and two together. He would never forget her expression; it was the same look she wore when he visited her in less-than-respectful attire or made a tasteless joke. She was mad--she was _so mad_ \--but she was also trying not to burst into laughter.

Later, he realized she let him get away with acting so disrespectfully because the formality of all her other relationships bored her; she only spoke in casual tones with him, threatening to wallop him with her tail if he told anyone. He never did.

By the time he became her dragon priest, they had both matured considerably, although there was _plenty_ of room for improvement--hell, there still was centuries later. They had more intellectual conversations, which were laced with banter as opposed to being wrought with it, and he grew to regard her as a friend and confidant. He suspected she felt the same, but they were both too proud to admit it, often concealing their affection beneath well-timed, backhanded compliments. 

Those were among the happiest years of his life--he completed his grueling training, established himself as Venti’s only-pretending-to-be-solemn priest, and Maria had eagerly accepted his marriage proposal. He served as Venti’s priest until he was 27, up until the day he impulsively relinquished his duties to serve her as a guardian instead.

He was still getting accustomed to the fact that, while he was asleep, all of those traditions had been dissolved. Venti no longer retained a dragon priest, electing to communicate with her subjects directly; she even performed ceremonies herself, presiding over both funerals and weddings. His purpose--like everything else, it seemed--had been completely lost to time.

All that remained of his priesthood, besides Venti, were his tattoos and his clothing. He could wear anything he wanted, now--as long as it was _something_ , Frey emphasized--but so far, nothing else felt like it suited him. Nearly his entire life had been spent preparing for the responsibilities of priesthood and, at least for now, it was still his identity... despite its uselessness.

At the present moment, considering another priest had spirited his loved ones to the Forest of Beginnings centuries ago, there was no need for rituals--but he went through the motions, nonetheless. It felt therapeutic, _cathartic_ , and he knew immediately that this was the beginning of a winding, precarious path that would ultimately lead him to closure. As luck would have it, though, the path was wide enough for someone to walk alongside him.

During burial rites, it was customary to individually join hands and touch foreheads with everyone in attendance, accepting their thoughts in the form of spiritual energy that was vital to ensuring the spell’s success. He didn’t hear their thoughts, per se; it was more like a perception of their sentiment--good or bad. To say that particular ritual was emotionally exhausting would be an understatement, especially when the temple had been overflowing with mourners.

This time, there was only one other person present. In accordance with tradition, he clasped hands with Frey and leaned his forehead against hers--soon after which his cerulean eyes shot open and he was stunned, astonished, _overwhelmed_ by the sheer tenderness she imbued. It was so unexpected that he stumbled backward half a step, still holding her hands, mouth agape but silent in the absence of adequate words.

“Did… did I do something wrong?” she asked gently, with green eyes so wide and innocent and honest that he almost lost his ability to speak entirely.

“No… _gods_ , no. You--” His eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to express what seemed inexpressible. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and squeezed her hands--probably too tightly, but she didn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Are you sure?” She tilted her head and gazed up at him with obvious concern, and he smiled softly in reassurance despite his trembling lips. Her smile mirrored his and he was further moved by the sweetness of her expression.

“Frey…” He narrowed his eyes in concentration and his fingers restlessly tapped her wrists. She waited attentively as he ruminated. “Would you be willing to tell me what you were thinking just then?”

“Huh? What I was thinking?” Her delicate brows lifted in surprise and her cheeks pinkened--intriguing. “I just imagined that I was talking to them… Maria and your family.”

“Then… you must have imagined saying something incredibly profound,” he replied with a bewildered shake of his head, expelling a shuddering breath.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but not really.” She giggled with a hint of bashful nervousness, but she didn’t avoid his direct, captivated gaze. She pressed both sets of their intertwined hands together between them, then swung them outward and back together again--several times. She was stalling.

“All right,” he sighed, wearing a lopsided smirk and inclining his head toward her. He held their hands against his chest and she squirmed. “Now I’m really curious.”

She lifted her chin and inhaled in a very specific way; she was preparing to hastily explain using an unnecessary amount of words, and his eyes softened fondly. “I told them I’m sorry they never got to see you again, but their loss wasn’t in vain--that you’re largely responsible for sustaining Venti for hundreds of years, and she wouldn’t be here today without you. When you woke up, one of the first questions you asked me was _why I did that_ , like you would have willingly gone back to sleep right that second. They should also know that you actually saved Venti _twice_ \--”

“Pfft, that was all you. I just tagged along to make inappropriate comments,” he chuckled, and she rolled her eyes.

“Do you want to know what else I was thinking or not?” she asked, perturbed, and he instantly wiped the grin from his face. She gave him an exasperated look, then smiled sincerely before continuing. “Also… I told Maria I’m sorry she didn’t get to spend the rest of her life with you, like she planned, and that I hope she was able to find happiness. I told her I hoped she’d forgive you for trying to find yours.”

“Anything else?” he pried softly, voice husky with emotion. He only asked because the compassionate woman before him was suspiciously interested in their clasped hands, all of a sudden.

“I told her how much I love you and that I hope she’ll forgive me, too…” She raised her head and her voice trembled as she quietly added, “And I promised her that I’ll take care of you the best I can.”

His eyes stung with tears--a sensation that was becoming all too familiar lately--and she wrapped him in a hug, causing him to breathe an involuntary sigh of relief. “Geez, I’ve cried more in the past year than I have in my entire life. You’re making me all sentimental.”

“That’s not such a bad thing,” came her muffled response as he squeezed her relentlessly.

“It is when you have a certain image to uphold. My teasing won’t be as effective if everyone thinks I’m soft,” he groaned, watching a tiny bird flutter to the ground. A gust of wind nudged it along and it flapped its wings, hopping away.

“I _know_ you’re a softy beneath that mischievous exterior and you still manage to tease me just fine,” she giggled, leaning back to grin at him. He adored the way her emotions were always so clearly reflected in her eyes; they were sparkling with mirth.

“Ah, _you_ … protect my secret at all costs.” He smirked and tweaked her nose before adopting a more somber expression. “Thank you for speaking their names with me, Frey… for helping me keep their memories alive.”

“You’re welcome. I promise I’ll always continue to remember them, too,” she replied genuinely, in a tone that was intimate and saturated with warmth.

He held her close and kissed the crown of her head as dried leaves scattered at their feet. For the first time in a long while, their appearance filled him with optimism instead of dread. To shed his withered limbs and sprout anew was a privilege in spite of its hardship, and this time he wouldn’t bury his roots so shallowly.

* * *

“Did you ever figure out what happened last week?”

He and Frey were relaxing beneath the cherry blossom tree on the shore of Dragon Lake, its roots so long and gnarled with age that they nearly reached the water. He was sitting against the wide trunk and she was huddled against him for warmth--or so she claimed; she'd never really fussed about being cold before. Either way, he was perfectly happy to tuck her beneath his arm.

“I’m at a loss. I’ve performed that ritual countless times, and not once have I perceived anyone’s emotions so intensely,” he mused, idly rubbing her shoulder. His eyes were trained skyward as fallen cherry blossoms floated gracefully overhead, drifting down to cover the lake’s glassy surface in layers of pink and white. "I still can’t find the words to describe it. It's not comparable to anything I've felt before."

“Maybe it’s because I’m an Earthmate?” she suggested, hands overflowing with delicate petals. She was likely planning to toss them in the air like confetti, once she was satisfied she’d collected enough. There were at least a dozen within her reach and they kept coming; she had gleefully plucked several from his hair already.

“Earthmates were often present during those ceremonies; they weren't so rare back then. But nothing like that ever transpired.”

“Is it... because I love you?” There was a hint of timidity lacing her voice, like she hadn’t told him that dozens of times by now. He found it endearing that she bounced between boldness and shyness so unpredictably.

“I would say that’s possible, but it didn’t happen with Maria.” He was certain she had loved him with every fiber of her being. “The way you express your emotions is something to behold, though. Your exuberance is unmatched. I can practically feel your zest for life rolling off you in waves right now.”

“So you’re saying I’m too intense even for you,” she laughed, bright eyes scanning the grass for more petals. “By the way… you don't sense my emotions every time our foreheads touch, right?"

“Extrasensory perception isn’t an ability I use outside of ceremonies. If that were the case, you’d blow my mind every time we kiss--more than you already do, that is.” He grinned suggestively when her head shot up and she blushed, emitting a cute sound that was somewhere between a squeak and yelp. 

His eyes flickered to her shapely mouth--which he hadn't _thoroughly_ kissed, in the midst of his anguish, for weeks--as he leaned over, tucking a strand of loose mint hair behind her ear. Flushed and smiling, she turned her head to kiss the inside of his palm, firmly stamping it with her lips. He hadn’t anticipated that, nor the tingling sensation that followed as she nuzzled her face against his hand. Breathing shallowly, he stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, captivated by her unguarded eyes.

He dipped his head and kissed her long and slow, reveling in the silky softness of her pliable lips as he dragged his fingers along the curve of her neck. He continued over her leather gorget and down the length of her arm, caressing her skin so lightly that he left goosebumps in his wake, and--absolutely not on purpose--jostled her hands to upset the petals. His resulting laugh forced him to break away, and he laughed even harder when an irritated scowl spread across her face.

“Leo!” she pouted, scrambling to retrieve them. They were scattered across her lap and in the grass beside her. “I’ve been collecting these for a very important reason.”

“Important, huh? I didn’t realize confetti fell under that category,” he replied with a smirk, plucking one from her hands. He made eye contact with her as he nonchalantly popped it into his mouth and chewed, and she stared incredulously. Good to know he could still manage to shock her.

“They’re _not_ for confetti, and they’re not for eating, either!” She cupped the surviving petals against her chest protectively, obviously struggling to contain a laugh. A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs. "Get your own if you're that hungry!"

He defiantly snatched another from her lap and raised it to her mouth instead, which she immediately clamped shut. Grinning, he stroked the velvety petal back and forth across her equally soft lips, coaxing her to part them. "Come on, try it. It just has trace amounts of poison; you won't even notice it."

"Mm-mm!" was the only sound she could make with her lips sealed so tightly together, but the corners were twitching upward. It would only be a matter of time before the ticklish sensation caused her to burst into laughter; she was already scrunching her eyes as she tried to suppress it.

She was still clutching two handfuls of petals, and apparently she was too stubborn to let them go, even if it meant she couldn't defend herself. It was only possible to turn her head so far, and her composure was cracking as she tried to wiggle away. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he used the petal to tickle the underside of her chin.

Suddenly she gasped out a laugh, trying in vain to close her mouth again, but he popped the petal inside before she succeeded. She squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing as she reluctantly chewed, and then they shot back open to glare daggers at him. He was beside himself with laughter at that point, throwing his head back.

"It doesn't even really taste like anything," she giggled weakly, still catching the breath she lost during his relentless teasing. "But you said they have trace amounts of poison?!"

"As long as you don't eat dozens of them," he replied, cheekily stealing another, "it won't have any effect."

"I bet you have such a high tolerance that you're immune. I'm surprised I haven't died from secondhand poisoning by now." She shook her head as he snatched two more, and he chuckled at her irritated stare as he cheerfully ate them. 

"That can't happen… unless you kiss me immediately after I eat something poisonous... probably." He shrugged noncommittally and made a grab for more, but she glowered and clasped both of her hands together.

"That's not very reassuring!"

"Ah, it'll be fine," he drawled, cupping his substantially larger hands around hers, which she tightly squeezed together. He gave the beach a cursory glance before he lowered his voice and added, "But there's only one way to be sure."

"You're the worst," she grumbled, flushing, and she made an extremely short-lived effort to resist before meeting him halfway.

She still insisted on protecting her collection of petals, so he gave himself a challenge: he was going to make her forget about them. He lowered his head, bestowing featherlight kisses upon her waiting lips as she started to squirm impatiently. The fingers of his free hand drew lazy circles on the back of her neck and she wordlessly demanded a deeper kiss, arching her neck to better reach his mouth. He evaded her, dragging his lips along her burning cheek instead.

"It seems to me that you don't actually mean that," he murmured just shy of her ear, and he felt her entire body shiver.

Her encouraging response intoxicated him and he pressed his lips to the side of her neck, breathing her in, losing himself in her scent--a very familiar one, but he'd never noticed it on her before. Trailing leisurely kisses along her jaw, he asked warmly, "Am I imagining things or do you smell like charm blues?" 

"Y-yeah," she breathed, and he drew back to glimpse her face. Her long lashes were fluttering against her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted in a blissful expression.

"Yeah, I'm imagining things? Or yeah, you smell like charm blues?" he chuckled, completely mesmerized by her. His pulse was erratic and his hands were trembling with adrenaline as he tilted her chin upward, coaxing her to look at him.

“Oh,” she tittered, turning bright red as her hazy eyes blinked open. She was still holding those damn petals, and when she nibbled her lip, he just barely managed to control his impulse to kiss her again. “I, um, made perfume with them.”

“Any particular reason you chose that flower?” He gazed down at her through lowered lashes, feigning indifference. Inside, though, his heart was hammering--he wondered if it was intentional or a coincidence; he wasn’t positive she remembered they were his favorite.

She perked up and her stormy eyes opened fully, flickering across his face. She was looking at him so hopefully that he almost couldn’t maintain a neutral expression. “Do you like it?”

“Does it seem like I don’t?” he purred, nuzzling the side of her face and inhaling deeply as his eyes drifted shut.

He enjoyed charm blues because they were one of the only flowers that shone a light in the midst of autumn’s gloom. They also didn’t smell overly sweet; they carried a warm, pleasantly spicy scent that he found both relaxing and comforting. Combined with Frey’s own smell, which reminded him of the moment just before it rained--a fresh, deliciously earthy fragrance--he never wanted to lift his head. He wondered how long he could get away with smelling her before it got weird.

He heard the gasp that welled up in her throat as he wrapped his lips around the curve of her graceful neck, then the breathy moan that followed, and the edges of his conscience blurred. One of his hands shot up to cradle the back of her head and hold her hair aside as he trailed languid, open-mouthed kisses from her ear to her chin, then back again, and it took him a moment to realize she dropped the petals--her fingers were tangling in his hair, anchoring him in place. 

“You didn’t tell me,” he purred against her ear before kissing the sensitive skin below it. He paid special attention to the jagged scar that was finally turning white, imagining his touch could heal it. “Why charm blues?”

Vaguely, he knew he should glance behind him to ensure no one was walking the path from town; they had definitely crossed the line as far as acceptable public displays of affection were concerned. Instead, he dwelled on how much the leather gorget shielding the majority of her neck and shoulders was hindering him, much like the thick belt slung across her hips, and a growl of frustration rumbled in his chest. He managed to pry his lips from her neck, but they found her mouth again instead, and then he forgot they were in public at all. 

“B-because,” she panted softly after several moments, draping her slender arms over his shoulders. He could barely think straight with those green eyes, so affectionately intense, boring into him. “When they started blooming last fall, you said they lift your spirits and have a calming scent, so I just thought...”

“You’re something else… do you know that?” he murmured, overwhelmed by her neverending thoughtfulness as he drew her back in.

Her voice escaped her in urgent little gasps between kisses, and his name on her lips--in the form of a half-gasp, half-moan--marked the boundary of his self-control. He darted his tongue out and swept it across her mouth, then captured her top lip, gently tugging it before he drew back to change the angle. The delightful noises he elicited from her were thrilling, and his surroundings blurred to the point that he no longer felt the harsh bark of the tree digging into his back, nor the uncomfortable ground beneath him.

He had the sense, as his mind overflowed with images of the past year, that this moment was the culmination of all the dangerous, unpredictable experiences shared between them--the tension built as they fought back-to-back and side-by-side, so often narrowly avoiding being maimed; the near-loss of their mutual best friend and their successful effort to bring her home again; the countless late nights spent poring over yellowed, faded maps; their spontaneous outings to find uncommon, must-have ingredients for her crafting; the lingering glances across practically every room and street in Selphia; the spontaneous, breathtaking encounters behind buildings and around corners.

Somehow, with tireless compassion beyond his comprehension, she had opened her arms and made him feel like he belonged there--even as far removed as he was from everyone and everything he had ever known, she had welcomed him with unwavering acceptance. She made him feel like he had a home again. _She_ felt like home.

It was almost agonizing--the thought that he would never be close enough, would never be able to touch her enough; he wanted to bury himself inside her, in every sense of the word. He might have, too--right there beneath the tree, on a carpet of cherry blossom petals. He wanted to make love to her until they were blanketed with them, and long after that.

But when he unwillingly broke their kiss, conceding to his lungs’ inconvenient demand for oxygen, she suddenly yanked him back by the roots of his hair, squeaking his name in alarm. He had existed in that dreamlike state for long enough that it took him several seconds to register the panicked expression on her face, as well as the direction in which her wide eyes were staring. He snapped his head around, managing to focus on the path far across the beach, and it seemed like half the town had chosen that moment to picnic at the lake.

They both scooted over and flattened their backs against the far side of the tree, panting--and then they looked at each other in the same instant and burst out laughing, red-cheeked and breathless.

“I don’t think they saw us,” she giggled shakily, leaning her head back against the tree in relief. Taking a deep breath, her eyes settled on his face again, and she looked as pleasantly dazed as he felt.

He peered around the tree trunk and quickly skimmed the beach, whistling softly and shaking his head with a grimace. “I hate to tell you this, but they’re all staring this way… looking rather scandalized, I might add.”

“What?! Oh _no_. No, no, no, no. Please tell me you’re joking. This is _not_ how I wanted everyone to find out.”

“Sorry, princess. Wanna make a run for it?”

“There’s nowhere to run to!”

“Let’s swim to the hideout and disappear. We can easily live off the land, between your skills and mine. You’ll grow vegetables and I’ll catch fish.”

“ _Leo_ , stop joking! Help me come up with a real solution, please. I’m freaking out.”

Unable to contain his laughter any longer, he threw his head back and cackled, slumping against the tree. “Oh, I wish you could see your face. You’re too cute.”

“This is no time to be laughing! What are you--” Realization seemed to dawn on her because she cautiously peeked around the tree, and when she turned back around, her glare was actually pretty menacing. “No one is looking this way at all! They’re completely oblivious. You jerk.”

“I was just giving you a little scare, so maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

“ _You’re_ the one who needs to be more careful! You started it.” She shoved him and crossed her arms over her chest, furrowing her brows as her lips curved downward. “But I don’t have to worry about being careful next time, anyway, because I’m not kissing you ever again.”

“I’ve never heard an emptier threat in all my life.” He peeled himself off the ground and stretched lazily, brushing pink petals from his tail before offering her a hand. 

“Hmph.” She jerked her head to the side, lifting her chin and closing her eyes in refusal, arms remaining crossed.

“Come on, you,” he chuckled, ruffling her hair, and she yelped as her hands shot up defensively. He used the opportunity to grasp her wrist and effortlessly pull her to her feet, smirking triumphantly. “I’m getting hungry and I didn’t manage to catch anything.”

“That’s probably because you didn’t even try.” She cracked a smile and rolled her eyes. “You got sidetracked.”

“It just so happens I discovered a new activity, one I enjoy even more than fishing,” he grinned, lifting his fishing pole from the grass and propping it on his shoulder. “But not to worry. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“If you’re trying to apologize, I guess that’s a start,” she huffed, leading the way around the tree and across the sandy beach. She hastily smoothed her hair and straightened her clothes as she walked, making him grin. It occurred to him that he should probably give himself a once-over, too, though he doubted anyone would notice or care if anything looked out of place.

“Hey, Dylas,” Frey greeted as the lanky, grumpy horse-man approached from the opposite direction. He was also carrying his fishing pole, along with a mysterious bag that probably contained bait; he was always testing different insects and foul-smelling pastes.

“Hey. Did your luck finally run out?” Dylas asked with a smug half-smile, glancing at Leon’s empty hands as well as Frey’s.

"Not quite. Fortune favored me today in other ways,” Leon answered smoothly, contentedly swinging his tail. It truly had. “Now's your time to shine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed, “just keep ignoring the fact that I win every fishing contest.”

“Hey!” Frey interjected, perching her hands on her hips. “I beat you last year, remember?”

“You caught _one_ more fish than me, and that was only because Doug--the doofus--snagged my damn fishing line.” He was still salty over that, as evidenced by his grimace and exasperated sigh. “It took me half an hour to get us untangled.”

“I still won, though,” Frey chirped, smiling confidently, and Dylas’ stare was glum.

“Sounds like Doug needs more thorough instruction,” Leon said pointedly.

“It’s a waste of time,” Dylas groaned, rolling his sharp amber eyes. “He gets frustrated in five minutes.”

Leon smirked impishly, lifting an eyebrow. “Perhaps if you give him some _incentive_ \--”

“All right, I’m outta here,” Dylas growled instantly, stomping off down the beach.

“If you keep teasing him like that, he’s never going to open up to you about Doug, you know,” Frey scolded as they continued walking toward town.

“I don’t need him to,” Leon replied with a shrug, “he’s as clear as crystal.”

“Geez, at least give him a break sometimes,” she replied, elbowing him.

He sighed, shooting her a sidelong glance. “Only for you.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, that was surprisingly easy.” She sounded suspicious, and rightfully so.

“It doesn’t take much effort to give him a break _sometimes_.”

“ _Leo_ …” 

“‘Sometimes’ could mean, for example, from midnight to 2:00... or every Monday, but only if there’s an eclipse… oh, or how about during typhoons?”

“I should’ve immediately known it was too good to be true.”

“You should’ve,” he chuckled as a small, sprightly figure approached, kicking up sand.

“Frey, Leon!” Amber called cheerily, bouncing on her heels as she stopped in front of them. “It’s such a beautiful afternoon! Are you enjoying it, too?”

“Yeah!” Frey chirped agreeably. “The weather is absolutely perfect.”

“Just a minute ago, she complained it was too cold,” he couldn’t help but add, watching Frey blush lightly in response.

“It’s chilly right next to the water,” she replied defensively, giving him a disapproving glance before addressing Amber. “Did your fall flowers start blooming yet?”

“Just today, actually! They’re so pretty!” she gushed, gray eyes sparkling.

“Mine started blooming this week, too.” Frey's smile was even more dazzling when she was talking about plants, so even though he didn’t think it was the most interesting topic of conversation, he paid attention. “I love this time of year.”

“So do I! What about you, Leon?” Amber’s expectant gaze landed on him, as well as Frey’s--the latter looked hopeful.

He briefly hesitated before admitting, “Normally, I dread fall… but it’s growing on me.”

“I used to dread it, too,” Amber responded with an uncharacteristic frown, which caught his interest. “It made me sad when almost everything I planted in spring and summer died. It’s kinda morbid, but I associated fall with death.”

“What made you see it differently?” Frey asked, almost certainly for his benefit, and he listened intently. As optimistic as Amber seemed, he was surprised to learn she had struggled similarly.

“Well, every season when we harvest the last of the flowers, their seeds are higher quality than ever before. That means they’re even stronger the next year!” Amber answered, with no less enthusiasm than he expected.

“That’s a great way of looking at it! It always helps me to think about flowers that thrive in fall, like charm blues.” His ears perked up when Frey mentioned the flower, and he sensed she was saying this to him more than to Amber. “Not only are they one of the heartiest flowers, but they’re also one of the most vibrant--especially during this time of year, when nature’s colors are muted. The charm blues stand out so beautifully and it reminds me that, not only is nature resilient, but so are people.”

“You’re right, Frey! I think I appreciate them even more now!”

“Me, too!”

Several minutes and several more random conversations later--apparently everyone had grown bored of giving them space--they were finally in the clear as they entered town. Whenever they crossed that uneven line together, where the sand and cobblestone merged, he was reminded of early summer--when she first grabbed his hand.

He froze in place and she stopped and spun around, tilting her head inquisitively. For a silent, reflective moment, he simply stared at her--gazing directly into her gorgeous green eyes--and she didn’t waver, not for a second. He extended his hand and she instantly placed hers within it.

They shared a smile and continued along, side by side, swinging their joined hands between them.

“What were you planning to do with all those cherry blossom petals, anyway? You said you were collecting them for a _very important_ reason.”

She flashed an unbearably cute, sheepish smile and a radiant, glowing blush he would never tire of.

“...Confetti.”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually didn't intend for the second half to turn into a makeout session; it just wrote itself. XD
> 
> Oh, and I know cherry blossom petals aren't actually poisonous and they're safe to eat, although I read other parts of the tree contain trace amounts of cyanide. I figure if rainbow trout can be poisonous in the RF4 universe, so can cherry blossoms, lol.


End file.
